


Clear the Air

by ordinaryiguana



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this to cope, One Shot, canon atypical discussion of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinaryiguana/pseuds/ordinaryiguana
Summary: They are agonizingly close to an important conversation and he can’t take any more dancing around the subject. Martin looks at Jon, fingers drumming steadily on his leg. “Should we talk? I feel like we should talk.”Jon doesn’t look back. His eyes are fixed on the fire and his scarred hand trembles slightly. He can’t remember the last time he talked about his emotions in depth. He’s afraid it might hurt.After a moment, Martin puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder, firm but reassuring. “We’re going to talk, Jon. No matter how hard it is.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 185





	Clear the Air

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first tma fic! its softsad. have fun

It has been barely over a week since Jon and Martin moved into the safe house in Scotland. Despite almost constantly being in the same room, they have hardly spoken, and the reason has gone unaddressed. It is the need to talk about the past, to reconcile and move forward, but also the fear of doing so. So, when they do talk, it’s about the weather, or an encounter in town, or a particularly good cow. Nothing below the surface. Jon doesn’t want to be the first to ask for fear of accidentally compelling Martin. Martin doesn’t want to be the first to ask for fear of crossing an unspoken boundary. It isn’t a painful silence, or even completely uncomfortable, but their troubled minds create a thick fog they must wade through in order to bring themselves to speak.

It’s raining, trapping the two inside indefinitely. Jon lights the fire while Martin makes the tea. Satisfied with his job, Jon sits on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and stares into the flames. He cannot help but think of Arthur Nolan setting himself alight and of Jordan watching the apartment burn to the ground. He thinks of Jude and the fire in her eyes as she gripped his hand and laughed. For a moment, he can feel his skin bubbling all over again.

Then Martin sits beside him and hands him a cup of tea. The warmth radiating from the mug is comforting. The warmth radiating from Martin is even more comforting. They are not quite touching. They have touched, slept in the same bed, and held hands while walking along the countryside, but Martin hopes Jon will be the one to initiate the intimacy. For all that has happened, he still worries that he is a bother.

The thickness in the air begins to settle as they wordlessly watch the fire. Jon attempts to stop thinking about all the terrible things fire does and to focus on the heat and light. The peaceful crackling and popping of smoldering wood. It doesn’t work. He can only picture boiling flesh. Desperate to get his mind off it, he tries to find something to say. Something to open a conversation. His discomfort is strong, but he decides vocalizing it is better than the continued quiet.

He sips his tea and clears his throat before speaking. “I know this is a safe house, but I can’t help feeling a bit uneasy.”

Martin turns to him, amazed by the discussion of feelings. “Yeah, me… me too. At least the tape recorder hasn’t turned on since we got here?” he offers.

“Yes, I suppose that’s some amount of solace. Not enough, though.”

“I guess not, no.”

The two fall silent again, leaving the crackle of the fire to fill the air.

Martin breaks first. They are agonizingly close to an important conversation and he can’t take any more dancing around the subject. He looks at Jon, fingers drumming steadily on his leg. “Should we talk? I feel like we should talk.”

Jon doesn’t look back. His eyes are fixed on the fire and his scarred hand trembles slightly. He can’t remember the last time he talked about his emotions in depth. He’s afraid it might hurt.

After a moment, Martin puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder, firm but reassuring. “We’re going to talk, Jon. No matter how hard it is.”

Jon takes a deep breath. If Martin is willing, he will try his best. “Okay.”

Attempting to ease Jon’s nerves, Martin speaks first. “Now that we’re able to actually talk to each other, I just think we should. It’s weird that we haven’t really said anything about what’s happened. And _so much_ has happened. So we need to… just get it all out. Say what we’re thinking. Remember how hard it was on both of us when we couldn’t really communicate? Even though I know you understand why I had to do what I did. To save you. To protect the others.”

“Yes, of course I understand. I don’t think anyone could understand quite as thoroughly as I do. I mean, it’s always felt like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It was my responsibility to get everyone out alive, and now…” Jon trails off. He scratches the back of his hand and exhales heavily. “Everything that’s gone wrong has been my fault, Martin. If I’d just been more careful, I-I don’t know, there must have been something I could have done differently.”

“Maybe there was. But it’s a bit hard to know for sure, isn’t it?”

“Impossible, even. I can’t just _ignore_ the guilt, though. It’s… been eating at me.”

“Tell me about it, then,” Martin says softly.

Though Martin has no powers of Beholding, Jon is compelled to open up to him at last. He nods and leans back into the couch, tea held tight.

“It took so long to force myself to trust everyone. I was convinced you were all working against me, desperate to see me fail. Maybe even see me die. It was a relief when you finally admitted that you’d lied about your CV, of all things.” He lets out a bitter laugh, then turns to look Martin in the eyes. He speaks solemnly and sincerely, choosing his words with care. “And I’m so sorry for-for how I treated you. It wasn’t right of me.”

Martin stares back at Jon. The eye contact is surprising, as is the apology. Both are more than welcome. “Yeah. That was a while ago. You’ve learned since then, I think.”

“I have. I know I have. I still regret it, though. I regret a lot of things I said and did.” Jon pauses, contemplating. “After all that, I finally trusted you, I finally trusted everyone. And then I died. I was gone for six months and when I came back, no one trusted _me_. I guess I didn’t exactly give them good reason to, but still. There was so much anger and-and hostility, and they kept telling me it was all my fault, because it _was_. Tim, Daisy, Sasha… I should have done better. Everyone was right to hate me. And you were gone.”

It’s hard for Martin not to feel a little guilty. He shifts awkwardly, but he’s sure of himself when he speaks. “I really wish I could’ve explained myself. I knew you were alone, but at least you were alive. That was all I had to hang on to, really. I couldn’t do anything more than I did without raising suspicion. If you knew, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“I know, I know. The tapes helped. A lot, actually. Even if they detailed gruesome encounters or had Jess’s… complaint on them.”

There’s another awkward pause before Martin asks, “Do you still see her?”

“I see all of them.”

Martin doesn’t know how to respond. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be on either end of a nightmare where The Archivist watches you relive the worst moment of your life. He’s glad he doesn’t have to experience it, but he feels terrible on Jon’s behalf. Martin often wakes up in the middle of the night to see him tossing and turning in his sleep. Even here, away from it all, he is unable to rest.

“I tried to help them at first, you know. In the dreams,” Jon says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t understand what was happening any more than they did. Naomi would fall into her grave and I would try to catch her, to dig her out, to do anything. I gave up after three months of the same. Then Melanie started appearing and I tried to help her, too. Then Dr. Elliot, then Basira, Helen, Jordan, Daisy, Tessa, Karolina, Georgie, even Julia and Trevor. I just… I didn’t want to leave them like that. Forced to relive the same nightmare, and all I could ever do was watch them suffer. I didn’t realize it was my fault until it was too late. They all act like I’ve done it on purpose, but it’s not as if I’m enjoying it. And now I’m _hungry_ , but I know it’s wrong. I didn’t ask for it to be like this. I never wanted to give up my humanity.”

Martin sits upright in protest. “You haven’t-”

“Haven’t I? I did it on purpose five times and I can’t say for certain that I’ll never do it again. Not to mention I _killed_ Peter Lukas.”

“That’s different, though, right? He-he was barely a person, he did awful things to people. To me.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Jon laughs dryly. “It’s stupid; I keep trying to romanticize it in my head. Tell myself I killed him for you, to save you. But that’s not why. Not really. I could have let him go with some damage, like I did with Breekon. I didn’t need to pull so hard that he fell apart. But I did, because in that moment I thought it was the right thing to do. Maybe the love I feel helped fuel my power, but I know I’d have done the same if he’d taken Melanie or Basira. He was terrible. He hurt and killed countless others. The Lonely has taken plenty of lives. I’ve read about it, and I’ve felt it firsthand. I couldn’t let it take another person. Definitely not you. And you know what? It felt _right_. So why do I still feel guilty?” He exhales shakily. “Murder, even murder of monsters, has never been something I’m comfortable with. I’ve witnessed it plenty of times and it’s never exactly left me feeling good about myself. The Unknowing doesn’t really count; they were already dead. Monsters wearing human skin. Peter, though, he was still a person. Sort of. I don't _regret_ it, of course. He was a murderer and needed to die. It should be as simple as that. Daisy sure made it seem as simple as that. It just… nags at me. The fact he was sort of human. The fact he was like me.”

Martin raises his eyebrows in concern. “Do… do you think you deserve to _die_ for what you’ve done, Jon?”

Jon stops for a moment and gives the question serious thought.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “No? But if I keep it up, if I can’t control myself, then maybe, yeah.”

Martin stares incredulously. “Jon, I… That’s dumb.”

_“Dumb?”_

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean like, your feelings are dumb. They’re not. I mean the concept. The idea that you’d be better off dead. I don’t think you would. Maybe I’m just being selfish, but I’m glad you’re still here.”

There is a small pang in Jon’s heart. Even amidst the chaos of his thoughts, Martin makes him feel a little better. Still, his fears and conflicts override that quickly. “It’s another one of those things, I suppose, where I’ll never know if I made the right decision. My predicament had me between two horrible options and I took the one I thought might be less awful. I had to choose between death and becoming… whatever I am. Now I can’t tell if I regret it or not.”

“You made the right choice. I’m sure of it. And I know it’s hard right now. It’s confusing and we don’t understand everything, but I don’t think you’ll lose control of yourself.”

“But what if I _do?”_

“Then we’ll figure it out, Jon. One thing at a time. Right now, you’re managing.”

Jon falls silent. Martin has a point. Discussing the past and the decisions he’s made is helpful for processing, but dwelling on things which cannot be changed has been hurting him. He takes a deep breath and another sip of tea.

“What about you?” Jon asks.

“What about me?”

“Are you managing?”

Martin shrugs. “I… I think so. It doesn’t feel great to go from one kind of isolation to the next. But at least I have you with me this time, and it’s not too hard to walk into town and say hello to the locals. It’s still a bit lonely, but not in such a terrible way. I’m glad you’re here.”

He smiles a little and takes Jon’s hand.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Jon says, squeezing Martin’s hand. He means it.

“It was… difficult, though. When I couldn’t talk to you, like this. I knew you would get the important tapes, but it wasn’t the same, obviously.” He swallows nervously. “You listened to all of them, right? Even the one from… before.”

“Yes, I-I did. Martin, I’m-”

“Don’t, don’t say you’re sorry. It’s… it’s not fine, but I’m okay now. I mean, I wish I could forget what he made me see, but I’ve gotten really good at ignoring it. It’s not worth it to me to think too hard on it, not anymore. I worked through it on my own.”

“I just wish I could have been there. For you.”

“Jon, I know a lot has changed since then, but what would you have done? Kissed me on the forehead and told me everything would be alright? I-I have cared about you, so much, for such a long time. But it hasn’t always felt like you cared about me. Sometimes it hurt.”

Jon knows. He opens his mouth, but before he says anything, Martin keeps going.

“I just wanted to make that clear. It was a while ago, and you’ve apologized, and I accept the apology. But I need something else, I think. I need you to stop me. When I get all… people please-y. I’ve spent my whole life wanting to be liked. Caring too much what others think. I just… I want to like myself. And I want to do it without worrying about who else likes me. Even now, knowing you _love_ me and having you here, I’m struggling not to worry about being good enough.”

Jon nods in understanding. He doesn’t relate to the exact feeling, but he knows enough about self-doubt to empathize. “You are more than good enough, Martin. You just being here is _more_ than enough. I know I can’t just… magically cure your doubts, but I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear.”

Martin cracks a smile. He scoots closer to Jon, closing the small gap and putting an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you. And, I know you probably won’t believe this, but not everything has been your fault. Some things are just way out of our control. Blaming yourself for it all isn’t going to help.”

“Realistically, I know,” Jon admits. “I suppose it’s hard not to, especially when everyone around you has been reinforcing it.”

“Well, I won’t reinforce anything that isn’t true. You did your best under extreme circumstances. Some stuff didn’t go well, some stuff worked out. You’re still Jonathan Sims, and you’re also The Archivist. You can be two things. And you’re definitely _not_ a monster.”

A small amount of relief washes over Jon. The air is breathable once again. He cranes his neck to kiss Martin on the cheek before settling safely into his arms. “Thank you, Martin,” he says softly.

Martin’s cheeks flush and he glances away, still smiling. “Yes, well, I mean it. And I’ll remind you every day if I have to.”


End file.
